


A Helping Hand

by samariumwriting



Series: Trans Claude AU [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Language, Misgendering, No Spoilers, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Trans Claude von Riegan, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 17:22:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20231563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samariumwriting/pseuds/samariumwriting
Summary: Claude has spent a lot of time hiding, and a lot of time facing his troubles on his own. He's not used to trusting people enough, or having them care enough to help him with all the things that come up in his life sometimes. But one by one, bit by bit, the Golden Deer show him what acceptance and understanding looks like.





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This was a ton of fun to write! It takes place in the same continuity as the previous fic in this series, which is a Byleth-centric fic that you don't need to read to understand this (but it would be cool if you did!) I was really happy with how people felt about the first fic and I have a lot of feelings about trans Claude so there'll be a lot more of this from me.

It was a chance encounter, honestly. Claude normally didn't even tend to pass the library at that time in the morning, and if he did, it was usually completely silent. But as it was, he'd woken with a jolt at six in the morning with a sudden idea that he just had to see if he could find backed up in a text.

As it turned out, there were people in the library. Two of them. And they were being rather a lot louder than was usually acceptable for somewhere people tended to study. "What do you mean, you think he's really a woman?" That was Lysithea's voice, high and irritated.

Claude would never deny that he had more curiosity than sense. If he had sense, he would have put a stop to the conversation right there and then. He didn't need anyone shouting about this kind of thing, even if they weren't referring to him. But he was unendingly curious to hear what Lysithea would say about this. So he waited outside the door, listening out of sight.

"Well, I mean it's not like he's short, I suppose," the person started. Claude didn't recognise their voice. "But there's something about him. He's so- Goddess, I can't really it it into words. Don't you see it?"

“I don’t, actually,” she said, in that so very self-assured way she had. “Claude may be annoying,” ouch, okay then, “but there’s no need to accuse him of lying to all of us or anything.”

“Well I’m completely sure,” the voice said. “He’s so- flouncy, I guess. I don’t know any real men who carry themselves like that.”

“Oh, so you’re sexist now as well?” Lysithea asked. “What about Ignatz, is he a girl because he likes art? Is Leonie a boy because she can use a lance and ride a horse?”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” they objected. “You’ve seen Claude fight. He doesn’t fight like a man does, he just prefers to stand back and not do a thing.” Honestly? It had gone beyond infuriating and become funny just how far this person was stretching. All the assumptions they were making were based on nothing.

“You mean you’re calling Claude a woman because he’s smarter than you and understands tactics?” Lysithea asked. “Please. At least apply a small portion of your mind to these accusations. I’m surprised you’re even managing to string a complete sentence together.”

“You’re blind,” the voice said. “Why can’t you see what’s right in front of you? Honestly, why can’t everyone see it? Claude is lying to every single one of us and no one seems to care. He’s so shady and sneaks around everywhere yet you all fawn over him like he isn’t lying through his teeth.”

“Do you really have to be quite so patronising?” Lysithea asked. “You must think I’m so immature, if you really believe that I would take your word over Claude’s on whether or not he’s a man. Has it occurred to you, somewhere in the air inside your skull, that it doesn’t actually matter? Even if Claude was a woman, as you are so clearly convinced he is, there’s no reason to actually care about that. He says he’s a man, so just call him one and be done with it, you tool.”

Claude wanted to applaud. All he could hear from the other person who had been in the library was disbelieving spluttering. It was all he could do to hold in his laughter as the other voice mumbled something and left the library. “Oh, Claude!” they laughed nervously the moment they saw him, and Claude heard Lysithea cough from inside the library. Oops.

“Good morning,” he said cheerily. “Getting up to some early studying, I see? Admirable stuff. Though it wouldn’t hurt to be a little quieter, you know Archbishop Rhea’s rooms are upstairs, right?”

“O-oh, yes, of course,” they said, clearly unsure whether to retreat back into the library or suffer walking past him. “Anyway, I’ll, uh, see you in class. Bye.” Claude didn’t turn to watch them practically run away, instead making his way into the library. Lysithea was sitting there with quite the look on his face.

“Morning, Lysithea,” he said with a short wave. “Warming up your vocal chords, I see.”

“Did you listen to that whole thing?” she asked, sounding decidedly disbelieving.

“Most of it,” he said with a shrug, heading over to the shelves to find that book on botany relevant to his next genius idea. “...thanks, Lysithea.”

-

“Please, Claude, how do you ever expect to lead anyone if you won’t move properly in combat?” Lorenz was one to talk. Claude pretty much felt like he was dancing circles around him right now. For every move Lorenz made, he was pretty sure he was making two or three, and yet...he still had a point.

Claude was not good with an axe. Try as he might, with all the training he’d had, all the hours he’d put in, he couldn’t wield it in the way he wanted to. People liked to watch him spar with others, Lorenz in particular, and he just couldn’t loosen up when people were doing that. Every movement had him thinking about how he was moving his chest, his hips. And Lorenz could tell.

“I don’t think the way I move has anything to do with whether I can lead people,” he said. “Unless you think the eyebrow wiggling you do at all those women makes you a better leader, somehow. Though I have some news for you if you think that…”

“That is not what I mean and you know it,” Lorenz said immediately. “Are you incapable of dispelling your irrational need to perform to everyone for more than a single second? It would benefit all of us if you did.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you cared about everyone else’s benefit,” he said, lowering himself into a better fighting pose again and hefting the axe onto his shoulder. He should probably take Raphael’s advice about bulking up a little if he was going to seriously use this thing, and on a wyvern no less.

“I clearly care more than you do,” Lorenz said. “I’d repeat the sentiment; how are you meant to lead others on the battlefield if you can’t even conduct yourself correctly?”

“I hate to break it to you, Lorenz, but I’m actually a student at this academy, not a teacher,” he said. “I’m still learning how to best do this, in the same way that you’re still learning how to hurl a fireball at a target without setting Lysithea’s hair on fire.”

“The two are hardly comparable,” Lorenz said, puffing up his chest a little. He seemed to be ignoring that Claude was ready for another match. He should have just put the axe down.

“Oh no, you’re right, because you claim to be well on the way to mastering the arcane arts,” he said, switching the axe to his other hand. “Yet I was closer to the target than Lysithea was, and I remained remarkably un-singed.”

“You’re infuriating, Claude,” Lorenz said, finally picking up on how he’d been ready for the last few minutes, lunging to take a short swipe at Claude’s ribs. He dodged out of the way and tried to shut down the bit of his mind that was telling him what his chest felt like. “Stop dodging the problem.”

“I’m not dodging anything other than your spear,” he said with a shrug, and the dull wooden axe connected with Lorenz’s shoulder. With the force he was putting into it, it might bruise, but Lorenz probably needed a couple of bruises to remind him to speed up a little.

“And the matter at hand,” Lorenz said, this time grazing Claude’s upper left leg with his spear. That was going to sting. “There it is again! You could have twisted away. I would have twisted away, had you done the same to me. I don’t know who’s been analysing your combat patterns but it- it does not look feminine if you twist your body.”

Well, there was the root of the issue. Claude was honestly surprised that Lorenz had summoned up the daring to say it. After their handful of initial misunderstandings, they’d both tried to avoid the topic completely. Claude didn’t trust himself not to say something he wouldn’t regret, and he didn’t trust Lorenz to not make a complete arse of himself. “Funnily enough, dodging attacks is difficult when you’re holding a conversation as well.”

“I cannot tolerate you treating this as nothing more than a joke or a game,” Lorenz said. “You must take your training and any feedback you receive seriously, rather than dismissing it because you dislike the implications. It could have consequences on real battlefields and real leadership when that time comes.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said, waving his right hand in the air and dancing around him. “If I didn’t know you better, Lorenz, I’d think you were concerned for my welfare.”

“Perhaps I am,” he said, aiming square in the centre of Claude’s chest. He jumped backwards, the dull point of the lance narrowly missing. The jolt felt bad, for an instant, but it was exactly the movement Lorenz had clearly been hoping to pull out of him. “You can do it, Claude,” he said firmly. “No enemy soldier cares what’s under the concealment of armour, they just care about seeing you bleed whatever that is all over a field.”

“I get it, Lorenz,” he said, barely keeping himself from snapping. He understood, he really did, that restricting his movement - consciously or not - for the sake of appearances was stupid. That it could get him hurt or killed. It was just difficult to turn that off. But maybe… He’d never really thought about how it could worry other people before. He didn’t think that anyone had picked up on it. Maybe he did need to change it up, if only for his friends and allies. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

-

Perhaps Claude’s least favourite part of being a noble in the Leicester Alliance was that the nobles valued communication. Mostly they valued arguing with each other. And, as the heir apparent to the leading family, he received rather more correspondence than he wanted to, considering all the things he had to do as a student.

He’d received all kinds of things from various noble families; mostly complaints, occasionally requests, often just general introductions and attempts to butter him up so they could try and manipulate him once his grandfather died. Very little of it was in any way sincere or constructive, and it had one very key drawback.

His grandfather had introduced him to all the nobles as his granddaughter. They didn’t see him in the same way people at the Academy saw him. They saw him as a hopefully easily manipulated pawn at best, a sizeable dowry at worse. Clearly, none of them had ever met him. They might not like him so much if they did.

The problem was, that meant all his letters were addressed to...not him. And he had to send out all his letters signed as someone who wasn’t him. And each time, signing that name felt strange. No one here called him by that name, and it made looking at it, writing it, feel odd. There was a disconnect between the two and it sort of kind of hurt somewhere in his mind.

It was when he was frowning over one of these letters that Hilda approached him. “Heya Claude,” she said, sliding into the seat next to him. There were a couple of blank pieces of paper in her hand, plus an unfolded letter. So, she was embroiled in a similar battle. He imagined she got quite a few letters from interested suitors, considering her brother’s position in the Alliance.

“Hi, Hilda,” he said, twirling his pen in his fingers. She knew, of course, that a lot of the nobles in the Alliance didn’t see him in the way she saw him. But he didn’t know if he should put the letters away and find something else to do. He felt embarrassed, being in situations where his classmates were constantly reminded of it.

“Ooh, I recognise that handwriting, is that a letter from my brother?” she asked, leaning over and picking it up without a moment’s notice. “Dear- oh.” She put it down, her easy smile fading. “Sorry, I should have asked before I looked at your correspondence.”

“It’s okay, you can pay me back,” he said with a wink. “You can read the rest, if you like. It’s fairly standard for your brother and I don’t think it’s anything you wouldn’t know about. He writes of you a little.”

“No, I wouldn’t want to read a letter to you,” she said. “It feels weird seeing my brother write about me anyway. He talks about me in a way that’s completely different to how he writes to me.”

“What’s the difference?” he asked. Turning the conversation away wouldn’t hurt, at least, and he was curious; Hilda was still a bit of a mystery to him, sometimes, even though everyone seemed to think she was predictable.

“Oh, you know,” she said, fiddling with the edges of the paper in front of her. “My brother loves me a whole bunch, because I’m pretty great, but he lectures me so much in his letters to me. He doesn’t do the same with other people, and it feels so odd reading it without all the ifs and buts.”

“He sure does admire you a lot,” he said. “It’s heartening to see how much he loves you, really. I know it’s embarrassing, but he only says all this stuff because he wants people to see you how he sees you.” He picked up the letter in front of him and puffed up his chest, putting on the gruffest voice he could manage. “‘I wish to thank you for your dedication to training with my lovely sister,’” he quoted. “‘Her abilities with the axe have improved immeasurably due to her-’”

“Okay, okay, you can stop now!” she said, giggling. “He doesn’t sound at all like that, Claude. You don’t have him down in the slightest.”

“Oh, you wound me, fair maiden,” he said, clutching at his heart. “I’ve only met him three times, and he doesn’t talk much at roundtable conferences. Not much of a chance to pick up on his tone from just that.”

“Sure, sure,” she said. She glanced at the face-up letter again. There was something on her mind; something clever, using all that raw diplomatic ability she claimed she didn’t have. “Hey, I have an idea.”

“Fire away,” he said. He tended to like Hilda’s ideas, seeing as they usually involved saving time on chores so they could do far more interesting things.

“I want to introduce you to my brother,” she said.

“...I already know him, Hilda.”

“No, I mean, I want to introduce you properly,” she said. “If you want to. No offence to Duke Riegan but my brother loves me way more than he loves your grandfather. He’d listen to me, and then you don’t have to get letters from him like that anymore.”

“Huh,” he said, trying to pretend like he wasn’t all that bothered by it. If Hilda knew how much the offer meant to him he’d probably be doing all her chores for the rest of the year. “That’s a great idea, Hilda. I might just take you up on that.”

-

Claude was all for balls and parties. He absolutely loved celebrations, he loved the energy and the food and everything about them. Except, well, he wasn’t the biggest fan of the kind of celebration that nobles in Fódlan tended to engage in.

The food was fine. Actually, it was pretty good at the monastery, they had some great cooks and the money to really splash out on the best ingredients in Fódlan. The problem was the activities.

Apparently, the preferred activity at fancy social events in Fódlan was dancing, closely followed by drinking (which they tried to keep out of the monastery, given the number of people who skirted the line between childhood and adulthood) and polite conversation. Drinking, Claude could get behind, in moderation. Preferably with more moderation from himself than the people around him.

Polite conversation? Well, conversation was fine. Polite was another matter, but politically charged banter was pretty normal whenever you were having a conversation with Edelgard. He could be excused for not being polite all the time.

Dancing, though...dancing was a tricky one. It was one of those things he’d been taught by the long line of tutors he’d been subjected to both before and after he was recognised as the Riegan heir. It was both completely unlike the dancing he’d grown up with and taught to him in a way he didn’t want to repeat.

Claude didn’t mind that there were rumours flying around about him; they just added to the general mystery of his presence. He liked that. He also didn’t care what people said about who he was attracted to, because he didn’t believe in making that into some big deal. However, he did mind the kind of conclusions people would jump to if he danced the way he’d been taught by his tutors.

It made him a bit fidgety, to say the least, when they had a handful of dancing classes in the weeks leading up to the ball. He was a good dancer and all, but he’d never danced forwards. And he’d never danced with a woman.

All through the week leading up to the lessons, Claude felt eyes on him every time it was mentioned. He didn’t know why, and it made him slightly uncomfortable, but no one said anything about it. It would be fine. Even if his hours spent practising his steps forwards probably weren’t enough to fix the problem, it would be fine.

On the morning the lessons were due to be, Marianne approached him before their morning classes started. “Um, Claude?” she asked. She didn’t often approach him; he’d been callous with her in the past and pried maybe a bit too much, but hopefully she didn’t hold it against him. “Would you be my partner in the dance lessons later?”

“I’m not sure you want that,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m not a very experienced dancer, so I wouldn’t have much to offer you in a lesson.”

“...I wasn’t going to participate at all,” she said quietly. “I don’t like dancing, and I’m very clumsy. But Hilda said...and I thought you might want to try dancing with me. We can learn at the same time, if you like.”

Oh, he saw what she was going for now. If he didn’t know what he was doing and she was clumsy, he could walk her through the steps without looking like a beginner himself. “Thank you, Marianne, I’d love to,” he said, smiling at her. She shot a small smile back and retreated to her seat closer to the back of the classroom.

And it worked perfectly, when the time for dancing lessons came. Marianne was extraordinarily clumsy, and she wasn’t a fan of standing too close to people, which meant their stance could be loose as they started until the Professor came to correct it, effectively teaching Claude what it was meant to look like.

The lessons helped a lot, in a way that practising on his own without a partner really, really didn’t. And Marianne was a really patient dance partner, understanding in a quiet way where Claude knew she understood why he was so slow, why he was so awkward, but she didn’t say a word about it, never tried to tease him or embarrass him at all.

“Thanks again,” he said, once all the lessons were done. “I know you said you’re clumsy, but you’re a great partner. Are you coming to the ball?”

“Probably not,” she admitted. “But this was sort of...fun. Thanks for not laughing at me every time I stood on you.”

“I returned the favour plenty of times,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s a shame you don’t want to come, but I understand why. If you change your mind, I’ll reserve a dance for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said with a small smile. “I’m sure all your dances will be great.” Thanks to her, they probably would be. Claude just really hoped she knew how much she’d helped.

-

“Hey, Claude, do you have a minute?” Ignatz called across the training ground just as Claude was finishing up his drills for the day. He was back to bows, after requesting that Teach stop asking him to train with Felix every other day. Sure, lords wielding swords was important, but Felix was way too focused. Claude would never be able to beat that moody force of nature.

“Sure, Ignatz, what’s up?” he asked.

“I just wanted to ask if you’d help me out with something,” he said. “The Professor assigned me to do some work with horses to improve my effective range, but I have absolutely no talent for it. Would you mind lending me a hand?”

“Sure,” he said. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“Well, I thought maybe we could go riding tomorrow or something,” he said. “I know it’s a big ask for our free day, but I really need some practise and I’m not confident enough to do it on my own.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said, placing the training bow back in its place. He’d have to remember to give it some maintenance when he had the time, it was starting to look a little worn out. “I’m always up for that kind of thing. When do you want to meet at the stables?”

“Maybe nine?” he asked. “If that’s a good time for you. It might be nice to sleep in a little, seeing as it’s our day off, but if you’d rather it didn’t cut into…”

“Nine is fine,” he said, before Ignatz could get to doubting himself even more. “I’ll see you then.”

“Great!” he said. “Thanks, Claude. It means a lot.”

So that was how he ended up having a distinctly awkward conversation with an intensely nervous person in the middle of a forest while they were both on horseback before midday. It wasn’t that Claude didn’t like Ignatz; he was a sweet guy, full of passion and optimism. He was just also very observant.

“I just- I thought I’d ask you before I did anything,” he explained. Ignatz wanted to paint their class before the end of the year, with the professor, and he wanted to paint them several times so everyone could have a copy, if possible.

“You don’t need to ask me about things like that,” he said. “I trust you to make some fantastic work, Ignatz. I’ve seen a couple of your sketches, you have a great eye for these kinds of things.”

“Well, I know that, but...I mentioned it to Hilda because she suggested I paint her once, and she said that I needed permission because if everyone has a copy then lots of people might see it, and some people don’t like how they look.”

Hilda was, again, showing off to everyone that she was actually incredibly considerate and cared about all of them. Mentally, Claude made a note to write that one down. It was just one of many examples he’d managed to collect in the past few weeks. “As I said, I trust you,” he said. Well, he trusted Ignatz with this.

“And you’re fine with, I don’t know, Lorenz’s father seeing it?” Ignatz asked. And he must have been talking to Hilda more than he’d let on, because there was a big leap between ‘you might not like how I paint you’ and ‘you might not want someone important seeing the way I’d paint you’.

“Just paint me the way I look, Ignatz,” he said with a smile. He knew that Ignatz liked to turn this into a conversation - why didn’t he talk about it, what if other people were talking about it. The kinds of things that Ignatz tended to overthink while Claude really wasn’t that bothered. What happened, well, it happened. That was the nature of things. “I’m sure everyone will love it.”

“I do hope I get everyone right,” he said. “Raphael says I have to capture exactly how many muscles he has, but he won’t stand still enough for me to do a proper sketch.”

Claude chuckled. “You don’t need to overthink it,” he said. “Just paint it. Though I do- I do appreciate you checking that I was fine with it. It’s a good rule of thumb, but I’m perfectly okay with the way I look, and I’m fine with other people seeing that.” He wasn’t always, but again, that wasn’t the kind of information he went around divulging to everyone.

He also felt like maybe he’d been a bit harsh on Ignatz. He’d approached Claude out of concern and respect for his wishes, after all, not to needle him with questions until he spilled his darkest secrets or anything. It came from a good place, and he appreciated that, even if he couldn’t help but wish that the question didn’t need to be asked.

-

The good thing about being a house leader at the Officers Academy was that, in the school itself, people tended to know who he was. They recognised Claude von Riegan the moment he walked into a room, and that was sort of freeing. Being in such a political environment meant he got to introduce himself to people. That meant they knew who he was, and he got to dictate the terms of their understanding.

The bad thing about being at the Officers Academy was they gave him chores to do sometimes. Hell, he didn’t mind doing chores; he liked being useful and he found it interesting to see the kinds of things they happened to need every time he was sent to the market to buy supplies. The only problem was that he didn’t really introduce himself to market vendors. So they tended to get things wrong.

It was always a bit of a knock to his confidence. He knew that he didn’t look too much like a woman, and he didn’t sound like someone who wasn’t quite a man, but there must be something about a merchant’s observation skills that meant they had him pinned in exactly the wrong way right from the beginning.

That led to the supremely awkward interaction he had one afternoon in the monastery marketplace. He was buying fruit, because they got through a surprising number of apples (Claude was pretty sure it had something to do with Marianne’s love of horses but he wasn’t going to say anything), and the vendor managed to get the wrong end of the stick immediately.

“Of course, young lady!” he said, clearly missing the look Claude gave him. Maybe ignoring it, or misunderstanding it. Who knew? “Just get to packing everything you want, miss, I’ll count it as you go.”

That was when Claude felt a large presence behind him. Raphael had seen the whole thing, and he was heading over. He loved Raph, but hopefully he wouldn’t make a scene. It was embarrassing and Claude valued his good rapport with the merchants; it was why he never corrected them. That and...something holding him back. He wasn’t sure what it was, it wasn’t like he was lacking in confidence when it came to other topics.

“Heya, Claude!” he called, heading to stand behind him. “I didn’t know it was your turn to do the shopping today. I woulda offered to help, if you’d mentioned it.” With that, he leaned over in the direction of the merchant and spoke in a voice that was too loud to really be conspiratorial but the tone tried. “He’s a bit of a twig, you see. He doesn’t have muscles quite like mine.”

“No, indeed,” the merchant said with a slightly nervous chuckle.

“You know the entrance to the monastery is just there, right, Raph?” he asked with a laugh. “I may be a ‘wisp of a man’ as you described me the other day, but I do have arms.” Raphael had never described him as a wisp of a man, but it was worth the look of discomfort on the vendor’s face.

“You do? They’re so small!” he replied, looking over at the list in Claude’s hands. “Forty apples, huh? Hey, Claude, I’ll hold the bag, you get them. Make sure to check them all over real carefully, Professor said the ones last time had a couple worms in.”

“Sure thing,” he said, catching on to Raphael’s game immediately. Skies above, for someone who claimed to be pretty dim, Raphael could be pretty darn devious sometimes. And so he started looking all the apples over. Very, very carefully.

All the while, Raphael was chattering away, and the vendor got more and more uncomfortable. “It’s sort of funny how small your muscles are,” Raphael said. “You’d think the Riegan family would be bigger on the whole training thing, especially with you as the heir and all. What’s the use of a big shot who can’t defend themselves?”

The merchant was clearly regretting his assumption. He looked absolutely mortified, and Claude was gleeful. This was perfect, and definitely the kind of thing he couldn’t do without a healthy amount of cooperation from someone else. It was fantastic. When he went to pay, he discovered that the price had been knocked down a fair amount too. Raphael was good at this. Guilt-tripping as a bartering method seemed to work, anyway.

As they walked away, Raphael with a sack of apples in hand, Claude couldn’t help but laugh. “That was something else, Raphael,” he said. Raph smiled proudly. 

“I hope you didn’t mind the name dropping,” he said. “I know you’re not all noble-y like that.”

“No no, it was great,” he replied. “Really put the icing on the cake. He really didn’t know what had hit him.” And honestly, Claude felt like he’d been hit with something too. A good something. Raphael was an absolute treasure.

-

Things all came to a bit of a point on an otherwise thoroughly normal day. Claude was eating his dinner in the hall, just as he did every other day. And, as always, students were being students and were gossiping about staff.

He didn't know what Professor Byleth must have done to piss off this particular student so much; maybe they'd told a bad joke and it had fallen flat, or maybe they'd given this student a poor mark in a test that they clearly hadn't studied for. Whatever it was, they were clearly pissed off, and they were taking it in exactly the way that they probably shouldn't be - they were making personal insults instead of actually dedicating their attention to whatever the real issue was. Probably because the real issue that lay at the heart of the problem was them, not the professor at all.

"I can't believe the audacity of the Church, hiring someone like that," the student complained. Claude felt like he recognised them from somewhere or other, but he couldn't tell exactly where. That said, he distinctly remembered that this person was quite the vile man, rather a little too proud of his sexual organs. Maybe the Professor had called him out on his dick probably being actually quite small? Who knew at this point, other than he as upset about it. "The Professor clearly knows so little about the teachings of Seiros. I've never heard a prayer out of him, her, whatever. What do you even think they are, anyway?"

Claude was just far enough away that he felt he could justify staying silent. It wasn't that he was keen to see the Professor belittled, it was just, well... "The Professor prefers that we refer to them neutrally," Leonie said. She already sounded annoyed, and Claude really did want to see what she would say if pushed much further. This other student definitely seemed keen to keep pushing. “I personally think we should respect that wish."

"Sure, sure, say that, but don't you think there's something super off about it?" he asked. "No one in the Church has ever said anything about that kind of thing being okay. The Professor should be a teacher and mentor, not a confusing freakshow can't make her mind up on which gender to impersonate."

"You can't even figure out what you think their 'true gender' is meant to be," Leonie said, "so I think you should probably stop talking. You don't have a leg to stand on here, and I'm pretty sure that no one even agrees with you. Everyone admires the Professor, and our class have been flourishing since they took over in a way none of the other classes have. Or had you forgotten that?"

"Not at all," the slimeball said. "I'm perfectly aware of how the class have been doing, but I don't think that has anything to do with the teaching being good. I think it has to do with you coming up with ways to distract others, and using the Professor's unnervingly strong influence with the Church to get the best marks and receive the best missions. I think it's blatant favouritism and I think it's wrong to grant such favours to someone so lacking in any reverence for the Goddess."

"I think you're pathetic,” Leonie said, and Claude resisted the urge to cheer her on. It was good to see the way that people stood up for the Professor. It made him feel...more welcome, almost, even if it wasn't about him, just about someone he really looked up to. "Are you really trying to link the way the Professor presents themselves to the quality of their teaching and their suitability to their role?"

"That's exactly what I'm doing," he said. "I don't think someone like that is particularly right in the head. Professor Byleth is weird. Weirder than the other Professors. I don't think she's suitable for teaching if she's like that. It shows an inability to make judgements and I think it's a sign that she's of lower intelligence than most of her students, honestly.”

“I’m just going to check, you’re not going for a round about way of asking me to fight you, are you?” Leonie asked. There was a clear threat in her voice, but the fuckwad opposite her didn’t seem to have noticed. Claude was almost struggling to keep his cool himself, and he prized his ability to not rise to petty insults.

“I’m just saying that if anyone is deluded enough to think people can just up and decide what their gender is when the Goddess already gave them one, then they’re not suited to teaching,” he said. “Anyone like that is utterly deluded, clinging to false beliefs and practically committing a heresy against the Goddess.”

Anyone who chose their gender, huh. Claude wondered if this sorry excuse for a person had considered that maybe Teach hadn’t chosen their gender; it was far, far beyond their control. Then again, he didn’t think that an intelligent thought had ever occurred to this person, because they were very obviously pissing off everyone in their vicinity.

“The Professor is probably teaching all of you a bunch of nonsense,” the person continued. “If I were you, I’d be worried about all that money you spent on your education. It’s probably paying for all the alcohol she gets to believe all that-”

The disgrace of a human was cut off by a furious noise from Leonie as she practically launched herself across the table. He was on the floor in an instant, and Leonie got several punches in before anyone had really realised what was going on. “You don’t have a damn clue what you’re talking about,” she said, giving the person in question a good kick in the stomach before she took off. A handful of staff were off after her within moments.

Claude watched the scene play out, feeling sick to his stomach. How could he have just sat there, listening to what was being said? He hoped Leonie hadn’t felt alone in her attack on him. He’d completely deserved every single one of those punches he’d received, given what he’d been saying about the Professor.

He knew that Leonie was just defending them, correctly, against slander, but he couldn’t help but feel… He’d have to thank her later, once things had blown over slightly. She’s said what she had and done what she’d done to defend the Professor, but those words had attacked him too. Leonie couldn’t have been ignorant of that when she jumped right into trouble like that.

-

All in all, his classmates in the Golden Deer were pretty damn great people when it came down to it. Sure, they weren’t at all united, and they bickered constantly, and they had their weaknesses, and sometimes they fell short of the greatness other houses reached for.

But that didn’t matter to Claude. Because every single one of them had demonstrated something to him that he’d barely expected to receive in his life, let alone somewhere like the Officers Academy. They’d shown compassion, and understanding, and a willingness to accept him for who he was.

It had nothing to do with money, or a noble bloodline, or crests, or political power. They didn’t protect him out of a ‘duty to protect the weak, bestowed by the Goddess’, nor did they help him because it could benefit them in the future.

No, they’d done those things because they cared. Because they were trying, at least, to see him for who he was. And for the first time in practically his whole life, Claude felt comfortable showing people an inkling of his true self. It felt great.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, please leave a comment as it really helps to motivate me. I don't often write such long pieces but this has been a joy and it'd be great to know how others feel about it too (or if you prefer shorter stuff too!)


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